


Aerials

by wavestiel



Category: Supernatural
Genre: Gen, M/M
Language: English
Status: In-Progress
Published: 2013-03-16
Updated: 2013-08-20
Packaged: 2017-12-05 11:04:09
Rating: General Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 2
Words: 5,783
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/722458
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/wavestiel/pseuds/wavestiel
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>AU in which Samandriel was the one to go with Castiel to raise Dean Winchester from Hell. I also like to pretend that Castiel fell in love with Dean during the process of getting out of the Pit.</p>
            </blockquote>





	1. Chapter 1

When Castiel first opened his eyes and really **_looked_** , he was slightly taken aback. It was darkness beyond darkness. Only the glow of his grace allowed him to see anything at all.  
"Castiel?" whispered a voice beside him. "Where are we?"  
He turned to look at his brother. "We are still in Hell. Can you not smell the souls burning?"  
"Yes but I meant where in Hell are we?"  
"I am...unsure. I cannot remember how we---" He had started to walk as he talked. He abruptly stopped talking when he tripped.  
"Castiel! Are you alright?"

He could not find it in himself to respond. He lay on his stomach, staring at the limp form of another of his brothers. As he stood up he glanced around, wanting to rest his gaze on anything but the slain form in front of him.  
"Is that...Ariel?"  
Castiel could not vocalize a response. He could only nod. He felt pressure at his side - he was being squeezed.  
"But if Ariel is slain...if we are the only ones left..."  
"We will finish what we came to do, Samandriel. We will retrieve the Righteous Man."

\---

Castiel remembered things more clearly later on. As he walked in the darkness, he could see flashes of it all.

They had broken down the gates of Hell surreptitiously. Alastair never saw them coming. Dean Winchester, however, did.  
There was a reason that Alastair favored Dean. Aside from being able to brag about helping to break the first seal, he liked the way Dean genuinely enjoyed torturing souls. He liked how cunning; how conniving; how devious Dean was. That was why he often allowed the dark-minded apprentice to wander. He always returned. His need for torture would always bring him home.

When he later reflected on the incident, Castiel could hardly believe he never sensed the lurking Winchester. He had been discussing tactics with Samandriel. He had been preoccupied.  
He had a soft spot for his youngest brother. "Youngest" was a bit of a mundane description of an angel, but Castiel knew that in human terminology, "younger brother" was always said with much affection. That was the only emotion he could attribute to Samandriel: **affection**.

"Wouldn't it be more sound to attack from behind?" Samandriel suggested in a careful tone. "Though they know not that we approach -- brother, dashing in through the front is unwise."  
Castiel found himself smiling.  
"You raise a valid point," he replied. "But I am not in charge today. Ariel is the tactics expert. Perhaps your fears would be better suited on his shoulders."  
Samandriel stiffened beside him. "They are not fears," was his firm response.  
Castiel laughed and patted his brother. "Of course they are not. I was merely teasing you. It still would not hurt to mention your plans to him."

Ariel was the archangel charged with raising the Righteous Man from Perdition. He was much more amicable than his brothers. Whereas Raphael and Michael were ruthless and went forth with nothing but the Justice of God as their weapons, Ariel preferred to take things slow. He wanted to know his enemies, yes. He wanted to snuff out the very lights of their souls, yes. But he did not want to die while doing so.  
He was also the funniest archangel to rule anything since Gabriel had left them. Castiel was certain that if Ariel didn't care for the plan, he would at least respond in some amusing way.

And so Samandriel ventured off to relay his battle plan to their superior. Castiel stayed behind, watching his comrades march in front of him.  
Ariel always came prepared with a small army of his most favored angels. On this day there were three dozen of them.

Castiel had been wondering if such a large group was even necessary for this task when he was blown to the ground. Something had barreled into him. Something had been powerful enough to knock over an angel as large as he.

"Hello precious," said that something. It was breathing heavily and had its hands pressed to his throat. "I'm going to eat you alive."  
"Get off...me...demon!" he grunted. He fought feebly against the monster. It only snickered.  
" **CASTIEL!** " Ariel's voice was a roar. The roar of an angry beast. " **CASTIEL, HOLD ON TO HIM!** "

Him? Castiel opened his eyes and saw chaos. Demons - dozens of them - attacking his brothers-in-arms. At least a single dozen of them were on top of Ariel.  
Then Castiel turned and looked his attacker in the eye. He knew in an instant: This was the eldest Winchester brother. His face, distorted by his time spent in Hell, was only further disfigured by the malicious grin he had on.

"Gonna eat you right up!" Dean hollered. Then he laughed. The sound of it sent shivers down Castiel's everything.

Though his first instinct was to burst free of the Righteous Man's grip, he instead turned around and wrapped his own appendages around Dean. He unfurled his wings and trapped the man against him.

"Devour me whole then," he growled. Dean was momentarily stunned by the angel's response. It only took him a second to recuperate.

"A real challenger appears! Excellent!" Dean was laughing again. He yanked Castiel to his feet in one swift movement. There was no stumbling, despite how tightly they were pressed to one another.  
 _He is adroit for a demon_ , Castiel observed. _This will only serve to be another annoyance._

Castiel surged forward and slammed Dean into a nearby boulder. His wings were caught in the crossfire but the pain was momentary. He fought to free his arms from Dean's grip and he soon found himself slashing at his enemy with his smaller sword.  
Dean's face crumpled into something that looked like anger. "You're testin' my patience," he said through gritted teeth. He had the sword's blade between his hands and was attempting to turn it around on its owner. The sword wasn't large, so realistically it could not kill anything. It was still enough to wound Castiel and that was all Dean needed.

"Listen sugar. This has been fun....but I gotta jet." He nipped at Castiel's exposed throat, which surprised the angel enough to cause a lapse in armor. Dean shoved the sword into Castiel's wing. Castiel howled in pain and fell backward.  
Again and again Dean shoved the sword into that wing. He even made time to attack the other one. He took a moment to admire his work.

  
"I would say I'm sorry," he said in a soft voice as he leaned down so the angel could hear him better, "but I'm not. I do hope you live through this. I'd like another play date."

And then Dean was gone. Castiel lay on the ground, bleeding and barely able to move. He did not register that his larger sword - the one capable of destroying another angel - was missing until he saw the glint of it in Dean's hand. He searched the mass of fighting creatures for his leader. He had to warn Ariel.  
Gathering all the strength he could, he got to his feet. He could feel his grace leaking from his wings. It was unpleasant. It was simultaneously warm and cold, forcing him to sweat and shiver all at once. Oh how he hated being in Hell. Hated all the sensations it forced him to feel.  
Distantly Samandriel screamed his name but Castiel could not see him. He had eyes for no one but Ariel. Ariel, who looked ready to smite everything in the vicinity. Ariel, who had taken Castiel into his care and personally taught him everything there was to know. Ariel, who did not know that the man God sent him to save was going to kill him.

It happened quickly; too quickly. It was almost, Castiel recalled, as though time had slowed. Ariel had raised his sword, prepared to strike down every demon nearby. Dean Winchester, amidst the chaos, had managed to position himself behind the archangel. Without hesitation, he plunged the sword into Ariel's neck.  
For a moment everything came to a halt. The angels that remained were stopped in their tracks. Every one of them could feel it in their grace, the pain of losing their greatest brother. There were no more demon howls. There was no more stench of Hell. There was no more heat choking them. There was only pain. Sorrowful pain that reduced Castiel to a shrieking pile of disbelief.  
Castiel collapsed on the ground, his body shaking. He saw black creeping around the edge of his vision. He knew he was going to be claimed by darkness soon. His last image was of Dean Winchester, wiping the blade of the sword clean on his thigh. He locked eyes with Castiel. For a moment, Castiel was certain he saw some conflicting emotion in Dean's eyes. Was it regret? Was it his soul trying to remember that he had once been human? Had once been above such actions?  
It did not matter. Castiel's vision went black.

  
\---

Castiel believed it was no coincidence that the Righteous Man had chosen to attack him and somehow, he was the one to survive the battle. Of course he wasn't the only one to survive. He still had Samandriel. Through something that could only be described as miracle, Samandriel had also lived.

“Castiel,” his brother said tentatively. “You are leaking from your wings. Please allow me to tend to your wounds.”  
Castiel sighed and ceased his walking. He was exhausted. Being so deep in Hell made it difficult for them to reach the Host and without the power of the Host, his wounds were not healing. He motioned for his brother to move closer.  
“Only heal me enough so that I may function properly,” he warned. “You need to save every bit of Grace that you can. Should anything unfortunate happen, I may need you to make a hasty retreat.”  
“As you wish,” Samandriel replied. “But...I believe I owe you a warning now, brother. I will not leave here without you.”  
“You will do what you must. We have but one mission: save Dean Winchester.”

Samandriel said nothing but he nodded in assent. He got to work on Castiel’s wings. They didn’t speak much. That was Castiel’s favorite thing about Samandriel. He was often quiet but it was not uncomfortable. It always meant his mind was working furiously and he would always make his thoughts known.

Finally he said, “It takes a lot to destroy an archangel. It has never been done before. I am not insinuating that you are being foolish…but why are we not falling back? Why are we not going for reinforcements?”

Castiel mulled over his answer before he gave it. Going back for aid meant risking being caught on the way out. It would give Alastair even more time to prepare for them, as he was undoubtedly aware of their presence by now. And Castiel could not allow Alastair more time to sink his fangs further into Dean.

“We must strike now,” he said after some time. “Do not let Ariel’s death deter you. We are destined to do this. Can you not feel the assurance that I feel? We are **_destined_** to save him. We will not fail.”

Samandriel did not argue with him. He pulled away and once more nodded his head. “I will follow you until the end.”

Castiel smiled and found himself touching his brother’s shoulder reassuringly. His chest was suddenly filled with warmth. Samandriel went back to healing his injured wings. As he sat still, Castiel took in their surroundings once more. It had not been this dark when they had first entered through the gates. They had been surrounded by a red glow at the very least. This darkness did not bode well. Was it a trick of Alastair’s? Or had they been tossed into some new level of Hell?

“Samandriel,” he said slowly. “What is the darkest level of Hell?”

“The Abyss. Do you suppose that’s where we are?”

“I believe so. I thought perhaps this could be Alastair’s doing but now I am uncertain.”

“There is one way to be certain, Castiel. We march forward and if it is indeed the Abyss, we will reach its end soon.”

“Yes. We may be even closer to Dean Winchester than I thought.”

\---

 The Abyss was the graveyard of Hell. When demons died, they generally were bound for Purgatory. Now and then, however, one of them would die in Hell and have nowhere to go. Their souls could not be released to anywhere else. Instead they simply ceased to exist. The shells they left behind had to go somewhere though. And so the graveyard was created. It struck Castiel as something only Lucifer would think of.

They moved forth through the black pit. They moved slowly at first, bestowing last prayers over their fallen brethren.

  
_O God, the Creator and Redeemer of all the faithful, grant to the souls of Thy servants departed the remission of all their sins, that through our pious supplication they may obtain that pardon which they have always desired; who lives and reigns forever and ever; Amen._

When Samandriel asked if the prayers were pointless, as such things were reserved for human souls, Castiel had replied that prayer was never pointless. In truth he was unsure what difference the prayers could make but he had to try. There was no longer a superior to make these decisions for him.

Castiel could tell that Samandriel was growing wearier the longer they walked. He did not blame his brother for being so on guard. In the Pit, they were not even their true forms. Everything was stacked against them in this realm. The demons were stronger, as Dean had shown when he tackled Castiel to the ground. The demons were bound to get larger. The demons knew the land. They had the upper hand in almost every respect.

And still Castiel pressed on. He needed to understand how Dean Winchester had destroyed an archangel. Samandriel's questions lingered on his mind. The sword had obviously done the killing – but Ariel was no fool. He had existed for much longer than Castiel cared to imagine. So how had this man – this demon – killed him? If Castiel had been able to hold onto him, would they be here now, marching along without any support?

Samandriel must have sensed the conflicting thoughts he was having because he abruptly said, “Brother, it is not your fault that Ariel perished. He was ruined in the line of duty. It is what we do. We serve our Father until our last breath. Do not forget what you said to me. We are destined to do this.”

Castiel did not respond. He did place a hand on his brother’s arm as a gesture of appreciation but he said nothing. He knew Samandriel spoke the truth. They were destined – _the Righteous Man was destined_ – to stop the Apocalypse.

 

* * *

 

 

Dean Winchester had given his life for his brother. He had sold his soul in exchange for his brother being resurrected and given another chance at life. He did not often regret that decision. Most of the time he wasn't sure that life had even happened. Sometimes he knew nothing outside of Hell. But on the day that he murdered the archangel, he regretted ever selling his soul.

The funny thing was that “days” didn’t really exist in The Pit. Things blurred together until you realized an entire year had passed. Even then, that year felt wrong. Time was…funny down here.

Often times, Dean did not remember his life on Earth. It did not feel real. The screams of his latest victims – those were real. Alastair congratulating him with a pat on the back - that was real. Listening to “Back in Time” as he brushed his teeth in a shitty motel bathroom? Sam’s arms around him, proclaiming that he’d had enough Tuesdays? Not so real.

When he slayed the archangel, he felt regret for a moment. The way the other angel, the one he had enjoyed playing with so much, had watched in horror...he didn't like it. When he saw the angel's wings and realized that he had been the one to tear them apart, he felt conflicted. It was not in his nature anymore to feel this way. Never before had he felt guilt for hurting someone. At least not since he'd been taken off the rack and given access to other souls to take it out on.

The angel's wings were a bright blue. He remembered that. There was silver gunk all over them. It looked almost like blood, the way it was trickling out of those wounds. But the color of the wings...the exact shade of blue...it was almost like the color of some diamond. What was that movie Sammy had made him watch? The one with the chick who posed nude with the necklace around her neck...Sammy had cried for days when the dude in the movie died...had that been Sammy? Had it?

He shook his head and breathed, " _Titanic_. It was called _Titanic_."

Yes. Titanic. The chick had a necklace with the Heart of the Ocean on it. That was what the angel's wings reminded him of. For some reason, that bothered him. Nothing down here had reminded him of home. Who did this angel think he was?

As Dean approached his chamber, he saw Alastair waiting for him. He felt his stomach drop a little. The uncertainty would easily be spotted by the old demon. Dean gripped the angel sword and wiped his face of anything close to emotion. He had fooled Alastair once before. He could do it again.

" _Dean!_ " Alastair sang. "My darling boy! I thought you would never return!”

“As if I could ever leave you,” Dean responded. “Here, I brought you this. Ran into a bunch of angels earlier. Nicked a sword from one of em.”

Alastair’s white eyes grew wide as Dean held out the weapon. “Angels? What were they doing down here, I wonder?” He took the sword gingerly from Dean’s hands.  “This is a real trophy, Deano.”

He placed a hand on the back of Dean’s neck and squeezed. “You make me very proud, my boy. Tell me all about the battle. I assume there was a battle?”

“More like a massacre. The poor bastards never stood a chance. Lost everyone on our side as well but that’s what the grunts are for, right?” Dean almost mentioned the blue winged angel. He was fairly certain the thing was still alive.

Alastair barked with laughter. "The grunts are good for that sort of thing, yes.  Now tell me...were they all destroyed? Did any of them give up any information?"

So Alastair thought Dean had tortured them? There had been so many...it was doable but it had not crossed Dean's mind. He had been far too excited about finally being able to kill something that was going to stay dead. No coming back the next day for more punishments.

"Nah man I didn't have time for any info gathering. I did catch the name of the big one. Ariel, I think it was. Heard some angels talking about him being a tactical expert."

At that, Alastair hummed. He squeezed Dean's neck again before pulling him close. "Dean Dean Dean," he cooed, "you don't even know what sort of shit storm you've stumbled into. This is good information."

"That name ring a bell?" Dean queried.

"Some sort of bell, yes. You might say he's an old pal of mine. Or he _was_!" Alastair laughed again, this time more vivaciously. He walked away, waving a hand at Dean in a form of dismissal. Dean did not move until he could no longer hear the echo of that laugh.

\---

Alastair remembered Ariel. Ariel was one of the archangels sent to destroy the Knights of Hell. He had never liked the slimy bastard. Had taken him head on once. Things had ended abruptly when Michael had called for the the archangels to return to Heaven. But oh, Alastair never forgot him.

If an archangel was being sent with any sort of army to Hell, they were after something. They were after his precious apprentice.

Alastair chuckled as he placed the sword on his mantle. There would undoubtedly be more. He wanted nothing more than to give them a proper welcome.


	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Warnings: Descriptions of torture near the end

Alastair knew there would be more angels. He was eager to play with them.

On the day that Samandriel was captured, Alastair left his fortress early in the morning to search the surrounding areas. He did not tell Dean he was leaving. He did not request that any other demons accompany him. He wanted to deal with this alone. This was his game. He was the master.

\---

Castiel was not certain how long he and Samandriel had been walking.  He only knew that the heat was overwhelming. His wings were aching. His head was pounding. At least there was finally light around them. It was dim, but it was better than nothing.

There was a large fortress far ahead made of dark stones. That was all they could make of it. It was too far to see more than that. But beyond it, they could see the outline of a castle as well. Castiel suspected this was the outskirts of Alastair's domain. He could only assume that several lesser demons resided in this fortress while Alastair remained in the castle.

"Castiel," said Samandriel. "I don't mind if we stop to rest. You were injured, quite horrendously. It's okay to rest."

"No," Castiel replied through gritted teeth. "We cannot afford to lose any more time. We...we have to get to him before Alastair ruins him further. He has been down here long enough."

"You seem very concerned about him." Samandriel did his best to keep his face neutral.

Castiel stilled, and Samandriel stopped walking as well. "Of course I am. We will be the ones to piece his body back together. We will be the ones to cleanse his soul. I - _we_ \- have no experience in piecing together such a valuable soul. I don't want anything else to complicate it. He is heavily burdened already. Any further darkening of his soul could make the task more tiresome."

"Oh...I see." Samandriel gave his brother a pat on the back before he began to walk again.

Castiel did not rush after him. He had no desire to voice the discomfort he was feeling in his wings (they had ceased their leaking and although they were functional, it was only barely), but he also didn't have the strength to fake wellness too much. He decided that walking a little slower would do him some good.

"Brother, perhaps you should slow down," Castiel observed. "Let's not get too far away from each other."

Samandriel nodded and turned around to head back toward Castiel. That was when something tackled Samandriel.

For the second time, Castiel was taken by surprise. Once more, it happened so quickly that he momentarily lost his senses. Samandriel went flying across the area. There was a loud BOOM as he connected with a stone wall. Castiel surged forward, intent on striking whatever creature was launching this assault. When the dark figure turned to face him, he was stopped in his tracks. With white eyes and a frightful grin, Alastair was a menacing demon.

 _He tracked us down himself_ , Castiel observed. _He brought no one else with him. Why is he without his apprentice?_

"So there were survivors," he laughed. "Looks like Deano got a little too excited about the fight and let the two of you slip through." He took in the sight of the angel before him: tall and powerful, with blue wings covered in dried… _grace_. He smirked; the sign of old injuries (injuries he knew Dean must have inflicted) made his chest swell. The angel was glaring at him with bright eyes.

"Where is Dean Winchester?" Castiel demanded.

Alastair let out short barks of laughter. "You're giving away so much already." He held out one hand and beckoned Castiel forward. "Come to me, little angel. I might have mercy on you if you beg all pretty."

"You are the only one that will beg for anything. I assure you, I am not inclined to show mercy any longer."

Alastair shook his head, mouth falling into a slight frown. "God's beloved warriors. Always making things difficult."

Alastair had begun to charge when, without warning, Samandriel latched onto him from behind. The angel used his large crimson wings to launch them both backwards. Castiel flew after them, wings burning with protest at all the sudden movement. He ignored the burning and pursued Alastair, who was recovering quickly from the surprise attack.

When Castiel reached them, Samandriel had drawn his sword and was attempting to subdue the demon. He looked up at his brother and cried out, “Castiel, you must retreat! Get away from here!”

Castiel shook his head vehemently. “I am not leaving you!”

“YOU HAVE TO GO. If he catches us both, there will be no hope! **GO!** ”

 Alastair roared in frustration. He reached up with one hand and grabbed Samandriel by the hair. Castiel found himself again cursing this realm and the way it forced them to be almost humanlike in appearance. With a gut leaden with guilt, he turned and ran away.

Alastair yanked Samandriel over his shoulder. The young angel crashed into the ground, sword falling from his grip, air knocked from his lungs with a whoosh. He rolled over but was stopped by Alastair’s foot applying pressure to his throat.

“I’ll give it to you,” the white-eyed demon rasped. “I haven’t had this much fun in years.”

Samandriel continued to struggle, reaching out his hand, fingertips grazing the edge of his dropped sword. Alastair grabbed the angel by the neck and yanked him upward roughly.

“You and I are going to be so well-acquainted by the time this is all over,” Alastair said softly, face lit up by a venomous smile.

\---

Dean didn’t understand why Alastair had suddenly shut himself up in his lair. He could hear Alastair singing, so he knew the old demon was up to something. He usually started the day with orders from Alastair on which souls to torture first. But on this day, Alastair had sent him away without even opening the door.

“It’s a free day, Deano,” he had said. “You slice em up in whatever order you desire.”

Dean had walked away without voicing any questions. It was never wise to let Alastair know he had doubts.

As he made his first slice of the day, and as the fresh screams rang in his ears, he thought back to the blue winged angel. Dean knew he might still be out there. They had unfinished business to deal with.

By the time Dean had finished carving his fourth soul of the day, he had made up his mind. He was going to explore this entire level and see if he could find the angel that dared to leave him feeling guilty.

\---

Castiel had never known such unhappiness. He had never before been in such a situation.

He needed to get Samandriel back. He needed to free his brother from the hands of that sadistic torturer. He circled back to the area where Alastair had attacked them, in order to grab Samandriel’s sword. Once he had acquired it, he set his sights on the distant fortress.

Distance was also a funny thing in Hell. Much like time, it was distorted. Although Castiel was certain the castle was a few miles away, it felt as though the distance suddenly doubled once he got close enough. Frustrated, he made camp for the night.

 _I need to rest,_ he assured himself. _That’s all. Simple rest is what I need. Then I will find myself able to think clearly._

Being in the open area was not comforting. Without someone to trade off watching duty with, he felt more vulnerable than ever. But he knew if he found no rest at all, he would stand no chance against Alastair. Finally – begrudgingly – Castiel fell into a light doze, chin resting against his chest, sword concealed next to his body.

 

 

What woke Castiel was the absence of sound. There was a near constant low rumbling noise in Hell; as if Hell itself were an unsatisfied beast, angry and rampant. When he woke with a start, there was nothing. Everything was silent.

Castiel stood slowly, his eyes scanning the area; there, sitting in the darkness that surrounded the light coming from his campfire, sat the Righteous Man, lying on his side with his head propped up by one hand. Castiel gripped his sword tightly.

“I thought you’d never wake up,” Dean said, a small smirk on his lips. He sat up quickly (much too quickly for Castiel’s taste) and waved at the ground in front of him. “Have a seat, angel.”

“Standing is preferable,” Castiel replied shortly.

Dean shrugged. “Suit yourself. I just want to have a little chat with you.”

“Excuse me for finding that hard to believe.” Castiel’s wings rustled with distrust.

“I think we got off to a bad start. Let’s go back to the beginning. I’m…I _was_ Dean. My name before was Dean.”

“You are still Dean Winchester.”

“Am I? Huh…some days, I’m not so sure.” Dean hid his shaking hands by burying them in his lap. He forced a grin and continued. “And you are?”

“I am Castiel. I am an Angel of the Lord.”

“Oh? Is that what those wings mean? An angel?”

Castiel replied impassively, “That is most commonly what the wings denote.”

“Funnily enough, I kinda worked that out for myself. What are you doing here?”

Castiel contemplated how best to answer. He could lie; he could come up with an elaborate explanation; or he could be upfront. He sat down in front of the Righteous Man abruptly and said, “We have come here to free you from Perdition.”

A wave of emotion overcame Dean’s tortured face. When he spoke, his voice was low. “You’re here to…free me?” Castiel nodded. “Why?”

“Because God has commanded it.”

“Bullshit,” Dean spat. “Why would God suddenly give a fuck about me? Why would he send a bunch of angels to tear up Hell, looking for me?”

Castiel was overcome with confusion. Did the Righteous Man not know his own worth? Did he not realize the sanctity of his life if God Himself declared him a top priority rescue from Hell?

As Castiel gazed at him, he could see the clarity of Dean’s soul shining. It was buried deep; covered by layers of grime and despair; but it was there. It shined in bits and pieces, and the pieces that remained unbroken looked fragile.

Castiel leaned in close to him and realized, “You don’t think you deserve to be saved.” Dean recoiled, looking as if he had been slapped. Castiel continued, “Good things do happen, Dean.”

“Do they? Then why am I here?” Dean’s voice began to shake.

Castiel cupped Dean’s cheek; he’d seen it done before, humans seemed to use it as a gesture of comfort. “You made a choice, to save your brother, and that’s why you’re here. But **we are here to bring you back**.”

The Righteous Man fell into silence. He stared at the angel with the blue wings, and the angel could see the anger and tiredness in his every movement. He suddenly understood it.

“Now,” he said, “where is _my_ brother?”

 

 

 

Alastair was loving – oh yes, really loving – the way this crimson winged angel howled. The angel let out screams of pain like he hadn’t heard in years. Not since Deano, probably.

The angel in question was strung up by chains and hooks, several of which were lodged good and deep in his wing joints. Alastair was simply beside himself.

He was so giddy that he’d been singing all day.

“Somewhere, beyond the sea,” he crooned as he circled the angel, angel sword in one hand. “Somewhere, waiting for me…” He ran the tip of the blade along the angel’s ribcage. “My lover stands on golden sands…” He curled a hand around the joint of one wing and gave it a shake, producing an especially loud yell from his victim. “And watches the ships that go saaaaiiiiiling.”

The angel was breathing heavily, and his eyes were only half open. But when Alastair plunged the sword into his leg, his eyes flew open and his body once more tightened reflexively. Alastair laughed when the smooth wing beneath his fingers twitched In agony.

“Somewhere beyond the sea,” he began to sing softly. “She's there watching for me...Tell me, little moth, who is watching you?” The angel gave no response. Alastair shook one of the chains vigorously, forcing the angel to produce another howl. “Who sent you?”

“G-God sent us,” was the breathless reply. “You – you will face the wrath of God – He will not give up so easily.”

Alastair threw his head back in laughter. He laughed so hard that he almost lost his grip. “D’you think I’m afraid of your God? The only God I answer to is locked away. That angry behemoth upstairs doesn’t frighten me.”

When the angel said nothing more, Alastair faked a sigh of boredom. “You’re too late, you know. The seal is already broken. You’ve wasted so much time and energy…”

Through his fog of pain, the angel registered only one thing: The first seal was broken. The Righteous Man had fallen already.

Brother, he called out silently, Leave now. Dean Winchester was not a bystander apprentice as we thought. It is too late. The seal is done.

 

 

Near the outer walls of the fortress, as the Righteous Man led Castiel into Alastair's territory, Castiel suddenly stopped walking. He could hear the cries of his brother echoing in the distance, and (through what Dean Winchester would later come to call "angel radio") he heard a frantic warning: _It is too late. The seal is done._

  
So Alastair had already succeeded in getting Dean to torture others. They had been wrong...when they supposed that Dean was only in training to torture, Alastair was one step ahead.

Dean raised an eyebrow at Castiel. "You comin' or what? If that's your brother screaming, we don't have much time."

Castiel's resolve solidified in that moment: There was no way to undo the broken seal, but they could still move forward. He looked at Dean with steely eyes. "Yes. Let's go."


End file.
